


About Apologies

by Thei



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: (both good and bad), (kinda), Apologies, Character Study, Child Abuse, Gen, emotional abuse (kinda), five times fic, three chapters written in different styles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-28
Updated: 2019-01-30
Packaged: 2019-10-18 08:32:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,673
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17577446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thei/pseuds/Thei
Summary: Billy sucks at apologies - or does he?A fic about Billy Hargrove and apologies; making them, getting people to accept them, and learning about them in the first place.(Three chapters, where each chapter is written in a slightly different style.)





	1. YESTERDAY - Closed Doors

**Author's Note:**

> This first chapter starts with the end, and reads backwards. Take note of the timestamps.

 

_9.23 pm_

 

It was dark outside, and a few snowflakes was falling from the sky. There wasn't a lot of snow covering the ground, but enough for the surroundings to not look as pitch black as they could have at this time of night.

When the doorbell rang in the Sinclair home, Mr and Mrs Sinclair looked at each other – it was too late for an unannounced visit from most people they knew.

“I'll get it”, Mrs Sinclair said and put her book down on the coffee table. She went out into the hallway and opened the door.

Outside, on her porch, stood a young man with dirty blonde hair. He was wearing an open jacket, despite the cold, and he straightened up when he saw her.

“Mrs Sinclair?” he asked.

Mrs Sinclair put her head to the side and watched him warily. She didn't recognize him.

“That's me.”

The boy licked his lips and took a deep breath.

“I'm sorry to bother you at this hour. My name is Billy, um, Billy Hargrove –“

Mrs Sinclair stiffened.

“– and I was wondering if I could possibly have a word with Lucas?”

He had barely finished speaking when his head snapped to the side, and he raised a hand to touch his cheek, where she had just slapped him. Mrs Sinclair had taken one step out through the door, and she was holding her hand up, as if she wanted to hit him again.

“How _dare_ you come here?” she hissed.

He stood up, slowly, and bit his lip before he turned to face her again. He opened his mouth to speak, but she interrupted him.

“I heard what you did to my boy, how you treated him! And if you ever do something like that again, I'll make you wish you were never born. Am I making myself clear?”

He swallowed. “Yes ma'am.”

Mr Sinclair came up behind his wife, saying, “Honey, what's–?”

His eyes narrowed at the sight of the boy on their porch, and Billy took a small step back before he raised his chin a fraction to meet the other man's eyes.

“I think you’d better leave, son”, Mr Sinclair said, voice cold.

Mrs Sinclair glared and added, “And I don't _ever_ want to see your face here again, do you understand?”

Billy blinked, but nodded and looked her in the eyes. “Yes, ma'am.” He turned to Mr Sinclair and dipped his head. “Sir.”

When he looked up again, he didn't look at any of them, but at something behind them. “I just wanted to say sorry.”

Mrs Sinclair glanced behind her and saw Lucas on the stairs, wide-eyed and gaping. She drew the door closed behind her to shield him from view, and whirled around.

“Leave. _Now_.”

Billy took another step back, and held something out for her to take.

“I will. Can you please give him this from–?”

“We don't want anything from you”, Mrs Sinclair said, and her husband drew himself up by her side. Billy watched him warily, and backed up another step. He gingerly put down the little bundle he was holding on top of the railing.

“Will you tell him I'm sorry?” he asked, but the only answer he got was silence and dark looks.

He nodded, as to himself, and turned his back on them. Walked down the steps, into the newly fallen snow. The light from the porch illuminated his back and made it seem as if he was disappearing into darkness. They could barely make him out as he reached his car that was parked on the other end of the street, and got in the driver's seat. A few seconds later, the car started.

Mr and Mrs Sinclair stayed there, shoulder to shoulder, until they couldn't see the car's tail lights anymore. Then they went back inside – Mr Sinclair’s arm around his wife’s shoulders – and locked the door behind them.

 

 

_8.47 pm_

 

Steve was home alone – like always these days, it seemed – and every light in every room was turned on. That didn't stop him from jumping, though, when there was a knock at the door, just when he'd sat down in front of the TV with a box of pizza leftovers.

He looked at the wall clock. He wasn’t expecting anyone, and at this time –considering everything that had happened, lately – it couldn't be anything but bad news.

He was right, he discovered when he peeked out through the window. Outside his front door stood Billy Hargrove, craning his neck to get a good look at the house. Steve briefly considered pretending he wasn't home, despite every light being on, but at that moment Hargrove spotted him through the glass and raised an eyebrow at him.

Cursing to himself, Steve went to unlock the door. Behind the door, his nail bat was standing innocently in the corner, and he reached for it with one hand before he opened the door – only enough for him to be able to look out through it, and certainly not enough to indicate that Billy was welcome to enter.

“Harrington”, was Hargrove's first word – the first thing he'd said to Steve since he beat his face into the ground, a couple of months ago.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

It wasn't what Steve had planned to say, but he didn't have to play nice with Hargrove. Not after everything. He didn't owe him anything.

Hargrove grinned at him, and if it looked a little nervous, then it was probably just a trick of the light. “I wanted to apologize.”

Steve just stared at him, before he promptly decided that he _couldn't deal_ with this right now. He moved to slam the door shut, but Hargrove wedged his shoe in before the door closed completely. When he spoke, he spoke quickly, as if he was afraid he was going to be interrupted. “What I did to you wasn’t right. I know that. I was in a bad place that night, and I took it out on you. It's not an excuse, I know that. I just ... wanted to tell you that I'm sorry. You didn't deserve that.”

Hargrove's face was serious – more serious than Steve had ever seen him – and that, more than anything, told Steve that this _must_ be some kind of prank. If there was one thing he knew about Billy Hargrove, it was that he _never_ fucking apologized. And for him to stand here now, and – what? Try to get a rise out of Steve? It made him mad.

“Get out”, he growled between clenched teeth.

Billy looked heavenwards, frustrated, before he reached out and handed Steve what he'd been holding in one hand. Steve was surprised enough that he grabbed it when Hargrove took a sudden step back, and found himself holding a six-pack of beer. He gave Hargrove a look that must have hinted at his confusion, because Hargrove gave a hollow laugh and said, “I figured I'd buy you a beer as an apology, but I'm not old enough to get into bars.”

It was said jokingly, but the joke fell flat when Steve didn't so much as blink. Hargrove's face fell.

“Anyway. That'll have to do for now. I know you don't believe me, but I'm sorry. Just wanted to let you know.”

Steve opened his mouth to speak – to say what, he didn't know – but Hargrove backed away from the door, hands out in an unthreatening gesture, and said, “I'm leaving, don't worry. I'm leaving.”

And then he turned, and walked off. “Have a good one, Harrington”, he threw over his shoulder, and then he was gone – swallowed by the darkness.

Steve shuddered, not only from the cold, and went back inside. Locked the door. Put his bat back in its place, and found himself standing in his brightly lit hallway, holding a six-pack of beer that was supposedly some kind of peace-offering from Billy Hargrove, who had punched him into unconsciousness not too long ago.

He scoffed, suddenly angry again. The beer was probably poisoned.

He took great delight in pouring it down the drain in the kitchen, a minute later.

 

 

_8.06 pm_

 

Max was sitting on her bed, with her back to the wall, wrapped in a blanket and holding her walkie-talkie in both hands. She wasn't talking to anyone, and it wasn't on, but it was a comfort having it close – she _could_ call someone, if she needed to.

The door to her room was closed. The house was unusually silent. No TV was on in the living room, no music was coming from Billy's room, there were no voices floating in from the kitchen.

Max hadn't even turned on the overhead lamp, so the only light in her room was the low light from the neighbor’s porch, shining in through the window. She sat there, with the blanket like a hood over her head, and stared straight ahead.

There was a hesitant knock at her door, and she flinched.

“Max?” Billy's voice. It sounded unusually gentle, but it was probably because she was hearing it through the door. After all, she was used to him yelling.

“Go away!”

“Can I come in? I need to talk to you.”

“No!” She picked up the closest thing that wasn't the walkie-talkie – a pillow – and threw it at the door. It made a very unsatisfactory _'thump'_ -sound and fell to the floor, so she continued, “I don't care, I don't wanna talk to you!”

“Max ...”

“ _No_!”

She was cowering against the wall now. The door wasn't locked – Neil didn't believe in locks – so she was expecting Billy to barge in at any second now. But the seconds passed, and there was only silence from the other side. Still, she clutched the walkie-talkie in her hands, prepared to use it. As a weapon, if she had to.

There was the sound of Billy clearing his throat, and then, “I'm sorry”. Almost too low for her to hear it.

“Go _away_!”

Again, there was silence from the hallway. Silence that lasted for a long time. That didn't mean that he was still there, though – Billy had an uncanny ability to move around the house silently if he wanted to. She hadn't heard him come up to her door, and she hadn't heard him leave. It didn't mean anything, though. Not when it came to Billy.

She heard a car door slam shut nearby, and soon after a car started and drove off. If it had been the neighbor, she'd have seen the light from the headlights move across her room. So maybe it was Billy. Maybe he had left.

She snuck up to her door, still holding her walkie-talkie, and carefully opened it. The hallway outside was empty. So was the living room, and the kitchen. Billy would never go into Neil and Susan's room, and Max would never go into Billy's room, so either Billy had shut himself in, or he'd gone out. She peeked out through the blinds in the living room. The Camaro was gone from the driveway. Billy wasn't here.

She exhaled, and turned around. From here, she could see the kitchen. Could see the dark smear on the floor. Blood, from where Neil had been lying, bleeding, just an hour or so ago.

Max sank down on the floor under the window and blinked back tears.

 

 

_6.57 pm_

 

Hopper sighed as he parked his car on the side of the road – the driveway was packed. Two cars and an ambulance stood there, and there were people milling about in front of the house.

He got out of his car and walked up to the back of the ambulance, where two paramedics were working on a middle-aged man who was half-sitting on a stretcher. The man – probably Neil Hargrove, according to the information Hopper had been given – was pale and looked drawn, but he was awake and was holding his right side, where there was a bloody bandage.

“I'm Chief Jim Hopper from Hawkins Police Department”, Hopper said. “I got a call about a possible domestic disturbance.” He watched the man's eyes darken, and continued, “Can you tell me what happened?”

“I'm sorry, you've been misinformed”, Hargrove said. “This was an accident. I was cutting my son's hair and fell. I was holding the scissors and, well.” He indicated the bloody bandage and gave what was probably supposed to be a sheepish smile, but looked more like a grimace.

“I see”, Hopper said and looked up when someone came out through the front door. The wife, he supposed, looking harried and carrying a bag in the crook of her arm while she was buttoning her coat. Young Max, whom Hopper knew hung around Jane's friends, went after her, and Billy Hargrove, the son in the family – whom Hopper knew had fought with Steve Harrington in the fall – was standing by the side of the house, smoking a cigarette. Hopper _hmm_ ed and went over to him. Billy dropped the cigarette in the snow and straightened up somewhat, but didn't say anything.

“You're Billy?” Hopper asked.

Billy nodded.

“I got a call, about a domestic disturbance. Your father tells me it was an accident while he was cutting your hair?” He pointedly looked at Billy's head, where a chunk of his locks on the left side of his face were chopped off. “Do you ... have another view of what happened?”

Billy glanced over at the ambulance and shook his head. “No.”

Hopper looked him over. From the redness of his face to the his hunched-over posture and the way he was hugging himself – all things that could be explained by the cold, but ...

“You sure about that?”

Billy dropped his hands to his sides and raised his chin. Looked up, but couldn't hold Hopper's gaze for more than a couple of seconds. “Yeah. That's what happened.”

Hopper had seen a lot, both during his time working for the law and before that. He had his suspicions about what had really gone down here. So he lowered his voice and turned his back on the ambulance, standing between it and Billy, and said, “Are you okay, kid? Do you need medical attention?”

Billy swallowed and blinked rapidly, but shook his head. “No.”

Hopper waited, in case the boy's answer would change, but when it didn't, he sighed. “Okay. If you ever need anything, you can come to me.” He held Billy's gaze, to make sure the kid _got it_ , and when Billy gave a hesitant nod, he gave a terse smile.

“All right then.”

At that moment, the paramedics lifted Neil Hargrove into the ambulance, and his wife – her name escaped Hopper at the moment – climbed in after him after hugging Max.

“I can come with you?” he heard Max say.

“No, honey”, her mother replied. “I don't know how long we'll have to stay at the hospital. Stay here with Billy, and I'll call you as soon as I know more, okay?”

Before the doors to the ambulance closed, Hargrove looked over Hopper's shoulder and said, “We'll finish your haircut later, son.”

Hopper turned, and found that Billy had come up behind him. Hopper frowned and looked back at the boy's father, but the doors to the ambulance were closed and the driver was getting in. Hopper watched them drive away.

When he turned his attention back on the kids, it was just in time to see Max as she went inside and slammed the door shut behind her. Billy gave an apologetic shrug that was half-hearted at best.

“Sorry”, he said and made an aborted motion over his shoulder at the house. “I should probably ...”

Hopper watched him nod and turn, and only called out for him as he was reaching for the door. “Hey kid!”

Billy froze, tensing up. “Yeah?”

“I meant it, you know. If you need help, you can come to me.”

Billy swallowed, but mustered up a smile. “Thanks, Chief. But that won't be necessary.”

And with that, he went back inside.

“Let's hope so, kid”, Hopper mumbled to himself. “Let's hope so.”

 

 

_6.17pm_

 

Billy was pushed against the kitchen cabinets, with the counter digging into his lower back and his head twisted at an awkward angle. Neil's meaty fingers were gripping his jaw, and the other hand was raised in a threat.

In contrast, Billy's own hands were lowered; one of them gripping the counter for balance and the other hovering by his side.

“I have _told_ you”, Neil said and tightened his grip on his son's face for emphasis, “again and again.”

“I'm sorry, sir.” Cautious words, spoken between clenched teeth – more a well-rehearsed phrase than a sincere apology.

Neil's reply was a fist to Billy's ribs. Billy grunted and would have doubled over, but Neil pushed his head back against the cabinet again. “Are you, son? Are you _sorry_?”

Billy breathed heavily through his nose and blinked his eyes open. He swallowed with some difficulty and wet his lips. “Yes, sir.”

Another punch, this time to Billy's stomach, and this time he did double over, since Neil let go of his face to take a step back. Billy made a sound of pain and held his midsection with one hand while the other was splayed out on the floor, to keep him from toppling over from his crouched position. Neil watched him with disdain.

“Well then, apologize like a man.”

Billy's hand clenched into a fist, but he glanced up from the floor and seemed to steel himself before he said, loud and clear, “I'm sorry for my behavior, sir.”

Neil scowled, and one of his hands shot out to grab Billy by his hair.

“You look a man in the eye when you talk to him, son. It's a matter of respect. No one can see how sincere you are if you're cowering behind all of this.” He shook Billy's hair – and with it, his head – roughly, making Billy grimace in pain.

“I'm going to do you a favor, Billy.” He reached out with his free hand for something on the counter, dragging Billy with him by the grip in his hair. The next thing that was heard was a _snik_ , and a chunk of Billy's hair fell to the ground.

At this, Billy started struggling against Neil's grip. “No!”

But Neil was standing over him with Susan's kitchen scissors in his hand, getting ready to cut again. Billy, in desperation, twisted his body to get away, and managed to kick Neil's legs out from under him. Neil waved his arms around – not letting go of Billy, who screamed at the resulting pain in his scalp – and fell hard onto his side.

And abruptly let go of Billy.

Billy held his head with one hand and scrambled back – but Neil didn't follow. Neil was curled up on the floor, making gasping noises. At that exact moment – probably wondering about the sudden silence in the kitchen – Susan walked around the corner, and screamed.

Billy startled at the noise, and that's when he saw the blood; a slowly growing pool under Neil's body.

“No, no, no ...” He shot forward on his hands and knees and stopped right in front of him, hands hovering like he didn't know what to do. Susan appeared by her husband and gently turned him over. Neil's face was pale, but even through the pain he locked eyes with Billy – a promise of retribution – and managed to push him back with a bloody hand.

“What's going on?” Max said from the doorway. She must have heard Susan's scream.

“Max, honey, I need you to call an ambulance.” Susan's voice was steady, even though her hands were shaking. Max stared at them all – from her mother, to Neil on the floor, to where Billy was standing; shaking, and with a bloody handprint on his gray T-shirt – and darted out of the kitchen.

“It was an accident”, Billy said in a voice that was almost a whisper. He looked terrified as he watched his father bleed on the kitchen floor. “I didn't mean it.”

 


	2. TODAY – Realizations

 

The next day, Lucas is waiting for Max outside the school. It's not Billy who's dropping her off today, but Susan, and he hears her tell Max, “If Billy doesn't ... if he doesn't pick you up after school, can you get a ride home with someone?”

Max exits the car and tucks her hair behind her ear as she walks around the car.

“Yeah, mom. Sure.”

Susan rolls down her window.

“Good. I'm sorry, I just don't know ... I'll go straight to the hospital after work and hopefully we'll all be home in time for dinner, but if the doctor doesn't want to release him today, I'll ... I'll call, all right?”

“Okay.”

Susan reaches out for her daughter, pulls her in for a one-armed hug through the window and kisses her hair. “I love you.”

“I love you too, mom.”

Susan lets her go and rolls her window back up. As she does, she sees Lucas standing there. Lucas gives an awkward little wave – he hasn't had much contact with Max's mom – and she looks surprised, but nods back at him before driving off.

Max watches her go, and then turns towards the school – towards Lucas.

“Hey, stalker”, she says, and Lucas smiles at the nickname.

“Hey.”

“What's up?”

She probably knows it's _something_ ; usually, Lucas is waiting for her with the others by the lockers before school starts.

He digs through his backpack and hands her a bunched-up piece of fabric. “Here.”

She takes it, hesitantly, and shakes it out. It's a Star Wars T-shirt, worn and faded but still undeniably cool.

“Okay ...?” she says, eyebrows raised. “Thanks?”

“It's yours, right?” Lucas asks.

She makes a face. “No? Why would you think that?”

Lucas opens his mouth, closes it. Tries again. “Well ... Billy was at my house yesterday.”

“ _What?_ When?”

“Like, late at night. He left this, and I figured it was yours, because ... well, where else would he have gotten it? It's your size.”

Max holds up the T-shirt again. It _is_ her size, or at least close to it. She frowns at the garment and hands it back. “Well, it's not mine. Did he do anything to you? Did he say anything?”

“Uh, yeah, actually ...” Lucas starts. “He ... said he was sorry?”

That seems to throw Max for a loop. She stares at him, mouth open. “What?”

“Yeah. I didn't actually talk to him, my parents were at the door, but he saw me and he said he was sorry. And then he left. And he left this –” Lucas holds up the T-shirt. “– on the porch.”

He watches as Max seems to process this, and then asks, “Why? Has something happened?”

Max takes a deep breath. “ _Yes_ , something has happened.” She grabs him by the elbow and steers him towards the school building. “Come on, let's find the others.”

***

Steve promised Mrs Henderson to drive Dustin home after school, because she had to work and she didn't want him to have to walk in the snow. When he shows up to pick him up, though, Max is waiting there alongside Dustin.

“Can you drive Max home too?” is Dustin's first question as he jumps into the front seat.

Max is standing outside the car, looking a little uncomfortable until Steve shrugs and answers, “Yeah, sure”.

She gets in the back with a murmured “Thanks”, and gives him a small smile that falls off her face as soon as she turns to reach for her seatbelt.

The kids are quiet, for once, and Steve's not really in a mood to find out why so he doesn't say anything until he drops Dustin off.

“Bye, Dustin.”

“Bye, Steve! Bye, Max! Call us if you have any more updates on you-know-what!”

With that, Dustin is out of the car, and Steve is alone with Max who, after a couple of seconds of hesitation, climbs into the now vacant passenger seat to sit next to him in the front. And damn it, but Steve's getting curious.

“What was that about?”

She sighs, and seems to consider whether she should tell him or not. When she eventually speaks, instead of answering, she asks, “Was Billy in school today?”

Steve frowns. Thinks of Billy outside his door yesterday, and of the fact that now that he thinks about it, he doesn't remember seeing him all day.

“No”, he says. “Why?”

“He stabbed Neil yesterday, and now he's gone.”

Steve almost swerves off the road. “He did what?!”

Max's face reddens, and she hurries to add, “They both said it was an accident, but. Yeah. Neil's in the hospital and Billy wasn't home this morning to drive me to school, and ... And Lucas said that Billy came by their house yesterday night!”

“What? Why?” Steve glances worriedly at her. “Is he okay?”

“Yeah, he's fine, he .... He said that Billy came to apologize.”

“What.”

“I know, it sounds crazy ...”

“Billy was at my house yesterday, too.”

Now it's Max's turn to give Steve a worried look, and Steve adds, “He said he was sorry, but I didn't–“ He doesn't finish his sentence. From the way Max clenches her hands, he doesn't have to.

“Yeah”, she says, slowly. “Lucas' parents didn't, either.”

When Steve drives up to the Hargrove house, there's no car in the driveway. He turns off the engine and turns to Max.

“Hey, are you gonna be okay by yourself?”

“Yeah”, she says and reaches for the door.

Steve wants to go home, he really doesn’t want to get involved in this, but ... “You want me to stay here until your mom gets home?”

“No, it's okay”, she says and exits. “Thanks, though.”

“Okay. You can call me if you need anything, you know.”

She gives him a little smile and nods. Closes the door, and walks up to the house.

Steve waits until he's sure she's safely inside, and then an extra minute just in case, before he starts the car and backs out of the driveway.

He's thinking about Billy Hargrove. He's thinking that something doesn’t feel right about all of this. And mainly, he's thinking that maybe he shouldn't have poured out all that beer.

***

As soon as Max is through the door, she shrugs off her backpack and her jacket. Drops them both on the floor in the hallway – she'll have time to pick them up later – and walks down the hall. She slows down, and eventually stops outside Billy's door. It's still closed, like it was this morning. Like it was yesterday.

Billy's car is still gone, and there's nothing to indicate that he's home. Still, she hesitates before knocking, because she's knocked on his door before, and he usually ends up yelling at her about it.

This time, though, there's no reply. She breathes out a sigh of relief, but it makes her frown too, because it means that possibly he hasn't been home since yesterday. She shouldn't care – she _doesn't_ care – only ...

... only it's weird. Billy doesn't apologize to people unless Neil forces him to, so for him to visit both Lucas and Steve and say that he's sorry, is–

She suddenly remembers yesterday, his voice from outside her room. He'd said “sorry”, then. At the time, she was too upset to think about it, but now? Now it makes a wave of dread wash over her. She doesn't even know why.

Taking a deep breath, she opens the door – but the sight that greets her makes her falter. She's been in Billy's room before – not a lot, but enough to know what it looked like.

It doesn't look like that, anymore.

The room is bare. The door to the closet is open, revealing empty shelves and hangers. The crate that he used as some kind of vanity is empty. His tape deck is gone, his tapes are gone, his books are gone. The only things that remains are the mirror, leaning on the crate, and the ugly poster of some girl which is still taped to the wall. Max looks around, and takes a cautious step inside. She can see her own face in the mirror – she looks pale in the darkness.

Turning the light on, she takes another look. The room looks even more empty in the warm light of the overhead lamp. His bed is neatly made – and on the bed, there's a package.

Whatever it is, is wrapped up in a piece of paper from a notepad. It says “Max” on it, so it is probably for her. She reaches for it.

It's a couple of tapes – five of them – wrapped up in the paper. She scowls at them, because it doesn't make sense. And that's when she sees the writing on the other side of the paper.

_Max_ , it says. _These are for you. I know you like them, because you don't complain about these as much as the rest of them when I play them. Take care of yourself. If Neil so much as raises his voice at you or Susan, you go to your cop friend and tell him, okay? I'm sorry._

It's not signed, but Max recognizes Billy's handwriting. He must have written this yesterday, before he left. Must have left it there for her to find. Maybe she would have found it yesterday, if she'd dared knock on his door then. Not that it would have made a difference. He was already gone by then.

She's lucky that she found it before Neil did. Susan is supposed to come home tonight, and maybe she'll bring Neil home with her. Max knows that Neil's first stop would have been Billy's room. He could have been the one to find this, and then Billy would have been in so much trouble.

Or, no.

Maybe not.

Because Billy _isn't here_.

She looks around the room again – he never had a lot of things, but everything he _did_ have, is gone. Every sign of him. And it hits her then, that Billy is _gone_.

She doesn't know how to feel about it, so she sits down on his bed and reads the note again. Holds the tapes in one hand, and doesn't let go.

***

Hopper has a headache, and the day won't end for several hours. He sighs, but there's nothing to be done. Leaving early for something as unimportant as a headache is not an option. He goes to get another cup of coffee instead – maybe that'll help.

When he exits his office, Flo zeroes in on him like an eagle who’s spotted prey, and he immediately regrets showing his face. But it's too late to turn back now, so he walks towards the coffee machine in the corner, and tries to ignore the way Flo walks towards him.

He pours himself a cup and thinks that maybe, just maybe, she'll have passed him when he turns around. Or maybe she just wanted a coffee, too.

But no. Hopper's not that lucky. When he turns around she's standing there, looking up at him through her thick glasses, and he has to tamper down on the urge to flinch. That look on her face means _paperwork_ – he's been working with her long enough to know that.

“Hop”, she says in her no-nonsense voice and hands him a stack of papers. “You need to finish these.”

He flashes her a smile and goes for a joking tone. “But Flo, that's _paperwork_. I thought that's why we hired you?”

He knows as soon as he says it that he just put his foot in his mouth. The joke not only falls flat; it hits the ground hard and ends up smeared all over in a sticky mess. Flo levels him with a _look_ , and he knows he's in trouble.

“I'm not doing your work for you”, she says, and hands him another stack of papers in retaliation. “Also, you've got mail.”

Normally, she takes care of the mail. It's not actually in her job description, but she took pity on him a couple of years back and has been doing it ever since, apart from a few times when she thought Hopper deserved to be put in his place. Like now.

Hopper nods in acceptance, and she nods back. He had it coming, and they both know it. They understand each other.

“Thanks, Flo”, he says and takes his coffee cup and the – now taller – stack of papers and returns to his office. He sits down and drains half the cup before he even reaches for the first envelope.

It's a letter addressed to him. There's no stamp, so whoever left it had to have left it in the station’s mailbox personally. Hoppers interest is piqued, and he tears open the envelope.

There's a letter inside. One page, hand-written in neat handwriting.

_Chief_ , it says.

_When you get this, I'll hopefully be long gone. I don't know if anyone will report me missing, but if they do_ – _you don't have to try too hard to find me. I'm almost 18, and I left of my own volition._

_Sorry if it seems like I'm causing you trouble_ – _but I'm actually making it easier on you. If I hadn't left, you'd have had to deal with murder charges, and I'm pretty sure the paperwork is worse for a murder than for a missing teenager. So we both win_ – _you don't have to deal with a dead teenager, and I don't get killed by my dad._

_I want to ask you a favor. Could you check up on Max and Susan once in a while? Neil has been violent with me since I was a kid, but he hasn't touched Max yet, as far as I know, but who knows what'll happen when I'm gone? I can't stay, though, not even for her. If I stay, I'm dead._

_Yesterday, he was slapping me around when he brought out the scissors. Went to cut my hair. I tried to stop him, and he fell on the scissors. It was an accident, and that's the truth, but he won't see it that way. To him, that was me fighting back, and he'll be sure to put me in my place as soon as he gets home. I won't survive it, so I'm taking my chances by leaving. It'll piss him off for sure, and who knows how he’ll react._

_I don't know if you'll believe me over Neil, no one else has, but even if you don't_ – _maybe just check in with Max and Susan once in a while? Even if Neil says nothing's going on. Don't trust anything he says._

The letter is signed _Billy Hargrove_ , and Hopper finds himself reading it twice before he leans back in his chair with a hand over his mouth.

“Shit”, he says.

He won't get any paperwork done today.

***

Susan is allowed to bring Neil home that evening. He is short-tempered and grumpy, but unusually pliable due to the painkillers he's on. He was given dinner before he was discharged, so he begs off an evening meal when he gets home, opting instead to go straight to bed and rest.

He glares at the door to Billy's room, and mutters something about how disrespectful it is to not greet his father when he comes home from the hospital, but lets Susan help him down the hallway and into the bedroom without further complaints. Susan helps him take another pill, and makes sure there is a glass of water on the bedside table in case he wakes up thirsty, and then she walks back out and gently closes the door behind her.

Maxine is sitting in the sofa in the living room with a bowl of cereal. Susan scrunches her nose up when she sees it.

“Do you want some dinner, honey?”

Maxine holds her bowl up as if to indicate that she's already eaten. Normally, Susan would insist on making her a real meal – real food – but it's late and the strain of the last 24 hours has taken a toll on her. She doesn't want to start a discussion with her daughter right now. So she nods, and goes into the kitchen to get a bowl of cereal for herself, too. There's no one there to see her being less than the perfect housewife, after all.

She eats it alone, sitting at the kitchen table, looking out the window. When she's done, she goes to wash her bowl – she's never been comfortable letting the dirty dishes pile up – and under the bottle of dish soap, there's a piece of paper. Curious, she reaches for it. It's just a piece of lined paper, with ripped sides. _GET OUT_ , is written on it. She frowns. Looks around the empty kitchen, suddenly uncomfortable. In the end, she crumples the note up and throws it in the trash.

Later that evening, when Max is asleep and Susan's getting ready for bed, she finds another note, under the small glass bowl where she keeps her jewellry when she's not wearing it. This note says _LEAVE HIM_ , and she suddenly understands. The handwriting is Billy's, and Billy's car is gone, and she hasn't seen him since yesterday ... She puts her hand over her mouth and stares at the note. Then her eyes harden, and she rips the note to pieces and flushes them down the toilet.

She finds several notes during the following days. When she prepares dinner the next day, she finds one that says _HE WON'T CHANGE_ stuck between two plates. When they're getting ready to leave for church – while Neil is ranting about his coward of a son, who has abandoned his family – she finds one stuck in her Sunday shoes that says _YOU’RE NOT SAFE_. When she accidentally cuts her finger while chopping carrots and goes rummaging through the first-aid kit, she finds one that _says I'M SORRY_ , neatly folded up and hidden in the box of band-aids.

She crumples them all up, or rips them apart, and throws them away. She never lets Neil see, and she's terrified that he will find one, one day.

She doesn't cry until a week later, when she finds the one that says _THINK OF MAXINE. PLEASE._

She keeps that one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alternative title to chapter 2: “Five times someone understands that Billy was trying to apologize”


	3. BEFORE - Words, said and unsaid

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ... and this concludes this three-chapter writing experiment ...

 

One day just before Billy started first grade, he was downtown with his dad. Dad was in a hurry. He was dragging Billy along by the hand, and Billy almost had to run to keep up, because Dad's legs were much longer than Billy's.

Billy was getting tired, because they had been walking for a long time, and it was warm outside. Billy _really_ wanted something to drink, so when they passed a corner store he tried to slow down, and pointed through the window. Started saying, “Dad, could we maybe–“

But Dad didn't stop. In fact, when he noticed that Billy was slowing down, he yanked on his arm really hard and kept walking. Billy fell to his knees, hard, and they dragged along the asphalt for a second, until he found his voice and screamed. Dad stopped and turned around with an irritated look on his face, but when he saw what had happened, he let go of Billy's hand. Billy got to his feet and looked down. His knees were scraped up and bleeding, and at the sight of the blood, he sniffled.

“No, no, Billy, don't cry”, Dad said and crouched down in front of him. “You're a big boy now, and big boys don't cry.” He looked at Billy's knees and patted his shoulder. “It's not that bad, we'll put on a band-aid when we get home.”

Billy struggled not to cry, despite the pain in his knees. He was a big boy, after all, and big boys didn't cry. Dad said so.

Also, dad bought him an ice-cream afterwards, and didn’t seem to be in such a hurry anymore, while they walked home.

***

When Billy was eight years old, he loved running. He was the best runner in his class, and his mom was so proud of him. He loved being fast, loved being able to outrun his classmates – so he ran as often as he could.

His dad didn't like him running, especially not at home. While his mom just laughed at him when he zoomed past, his dad frowned and told him to slow down, and not run in the house.

One day when his mom wasn't home, the phone rang. Billy ran to answer it – because he was sure he'd be able to get there before his dad – and accidentally slipped on the rug in the hallway and crashed into the little table with the flowerpot and the bowl where his parents put their keys. The flowerpot crashed to the floor and broke, but Billy barely had time to register it before he was lifted off the floor by his arm. His dad was there, and he was so angry that his face was all red. He grabbed Billy by his upper arms and shook him, hard.

“What are you doing, boy?” he yelled. “I've _told_ you not to run in the house, now look what you've done!”

His dad stopped shaking him, but still held him in a painful grip, and Billy's eyes filled with tears. His bottom lip wobbled, but his dad sighed and pursed his lips.

“What have we said about crying, Billy?” He gave Billy another shake to prompt him into answering.

“That only little kids do it.”

“That's right. And you're not a little kid anymore. Now, apologize for ruining your mother's flower pot.”

“I'm sorry.”

His dad let him go, and Billy rubbed at his arms. Swallowed down the lump in his throat, and blinked until the tears were gone.

The next day, when Billy had bruises on both his arms, his dad gave him a new pair of shoes. They were a little too big, but his dad said that he would grow into them. That he would be able to run really fast in them – but not in the house.

Never in the house.

***

When Billy was eleven years old, he knew there was a lot of things he wasn't allowed to do in the house. He wasn't supposed to run, he wasn't supposed to be loud, he wasn't supposed to have friends over, he wasn't supposed to play his music after dinnertime – and above all, he wasn't supposed to disturb his mother when she got tired. Strangely, his mother was never the one who was bothered by Billy seeking her out when he wanted to spend time with her. His father, though. It bothered his father.

One morning, Billy was told to come straight home after school, and do his homework, and not to bother his mother – she was tired, and needed her rest. Billy agreed.

But when Billy got home after school, his mother was awake. Her eyes sparkled, and she didn't seem tired at all. She asked about his day, and his friends – and Billy was all too happy to tell her everything. They spent a light and happy afternoon in her room, with Billy sitting on the edge of her bed and his mother propped up against the pillows, watching him talk with a smile on her face.

When his father came home, and saw them sitting there, he frowned.

“You look tired, darling”, he said, “You're supposed to rest. Billy, there's groceries in the kitchen.”

Billy was reluctant to leave his mother's side, but when he looked more closely, she did look tired. She always looked tired nowadays. So he went out into the kitchen. His father had left a bag of groceries on the counter, so he started unpacking it and putting everything away.

He didn’t hear his father enter the kitchen, and was wholly unprepared for the grip on the back of his neck, slamming him face first into the door of the pantry. He let out a small shout, but the grip hardened and he bit his lip.

“What did I say this morning, Billy?”

Billy always made sure to remember his father’s words, because he could never be sure of when he’d have to repeat them back to the man, so he answered, “That I should come right home after school, sir, and do my homework.”

“What else?” The question was accompanied by a rough shake.

“And– And that I shouldn’t bother Mom.”

His father ripped him from the wall and turned him around, and was leaning down so that he was face to face with his son. “And did you do your homework?”

Billy gulped. “No, sir.”

“What were you doing instead?”

“I was –” He couldn’t say ‘bothering’, because it didn’t feel right. “– sitting with Mom.”

There was a sudden stinging pain on the left side of his face, and when Billy looked up, he saw his father stand over him with his hand raised, prepared to slap him again.

_His father had slapped him._

“You were _bothering_ your mother, despite me explicitly telling you not to. You know that she’s unwell. Do you _want_ her to get worse?”

Tears welled up in Billy’s eyes, but he blinked them away and swallowed around the lump in his throat. “No, sir. I’m sorry, sir.” He stood up straight and met his father’s eyes when he apologized, like he’d been taught.

His father straightened up and looked down at his son; his eyes flew to Billy’s cheek for a second, and Billy could see his father’s hand clench and unclench by his side. And Billy didn’t know why, but he half expected his father to hit him again.

In the end, though, he only nodded. Told Billy to do his homework, and to do them quietly.

The following Saturday, he gave Billy enough money to go to the movies, even though he usually said that it was a waste of money. Billy even got enough to buy snacks. That afternoon, Billy saw Star Wars. Instead of snacks, he bought himself a really cool Star Wars T-shirt – even if he had to take from his own meagre savings to be able to afford it – and his father didn’t even comment on it when he came home that evening, wearing it.

***

When Billy was fourteen years old, his mother was in the ground and he’d been living alone with his father for a year. Life was harder now. His father worked full-time, but even when he was off work, he wasn’t always home. More often than not, he’d get home late at night. A few times, he’d been gone overnight without letting Billy know that he’d be gone, and Billy would have to fend for himself. It was okay, as long as there was food in the house. His father didn’t always remember buying groceries, and sometimes, Billy would have to remind him – which often earned him a shove or a slap 'for being disrespectful'.

Billy would have to apologize, after, but it was worth it if it made his father bring home groceries the next day.

Sometimes, though, his father would stay at home for longer periods of time, and that was worse. If he’d been home for more than three nights in a row, Billy learned to walk on eggshells around the house – especially if his father had been drinking.

When his father brought out the bottle, Billy learned to make himself scarce. He spent a lot of time at the beach, and hanging with his friends – staying out late, himself. If he stayed in when his father brought out the booze, then he’d inevitably end up doing _something_ wrong, in his father’s eyes.

This time, though, his father had been gone for two nights in a row. That hadn’t ever happened before, and Billy was … not worried, perhaps, but concerned. Maybe this was the time when he simply wouldn’t come back. When he’d leave Billy behind for good.

So when he heard the key in the lock late in the evening of what would have been the third night on his own, he didn't know if he was relieved or angry. Billy found himself stepping out into the hallway to watch his father stumble through the door. He recognized the swaying immediately. His father was drunk.

When his father caught sight of him, his face twisted into a grimace. “ _You_. Of _course_ you’re here.”

Billy frowned, suddenly irrationally angry at his father.“Where else would I be, dad? You’re the one who’s been missing for two days!”

His father staggered closer, and narrowed his eyes. “You don’t speak to me that way, boy. You should show your father some respect! Apologize!”

But Billy had had enough. Two nights alone in the house, and his father came home drunk and demanded respect. “No, dad, you haven’t been home for–“

He was silenced by a fist to the face that made everything flash with brilliant white. His head snapped back and hit the doorway, and he slid down the wall to the floor. Distantly, he heard his father walk over Billy’s outstretched legs to stumble into his bedroom, slamming the door shut behind him. Billy blinked and brought his fingers to his throbbing nose. They came away red; when he darted his tongue out he could taste the blood that was dripping over his lip and chin. His hands were shaking as he got to his feet, and he found himself swaying, much like his father had been, when he walked into the bathroom.

He only glanced at himself in the mirror, too shaken up to do anything but sit on the toilet seat with balled-up toilet paper in his nostrils and wait for the bleeding to stop. His whole face was throbbing, and he was shaking – but he didn’t cry.

When he’d cleaned himself up, he went to bed, but he didn’t fall asleep for a long time.

The next morning, Billy was already up and preparing breakfast – toast without anything on it, because he’d eaten the last of the cheese yesterday – when his father walked into the kitchen, squinting and making a beeline for the coffee maker. Billy kept out of his way and didn’t say anything. It was only a few minutes later, when his father turned around with a cup of coffee in his hands, that he looked Billy in the face. And froze.

Billy felt himself tensing up. He’d looked himself over in the mirror when he woke up, and seen that he had both a swollen nose and two pretty impressive shiners. He had a headache, and his face hurt to touch, so he had foregone changing out of his T-shirt from last night – which had dried blood down the front – and he could only imagine the sight he made. His father didn’t speak, though, and Billy didn’t dare look up to meet his eyes.

A couple of seconds passed before his father moved again, taking a couple of steps forward. Billy couldn’t quite hide his flinch, but he needn’t have worried. His father just passed him without touching him, and exited the kitchen. A couple of heartbeats later, Billy heard the front door open and close, and he let out a shaky breath.

Billy went to school, and fended off the questions about his appearance, and downplayed the pain he was in. When he got home, his father wasn’t there, but there was a box on Billy’s bed. In it, was a wrist watch. Billy’s old had broken around the time his mother had passed, and there had never seemed to be a good time to ask for a new one.

Strangely, the watch was what made Billy’s eyes tear up this time. A part of him wanted to throw it against the wall, because it was just a worthless _thing_ – but another part of him knew that it was his father’s way of apologizing.

Still. Billy wondered why it was that while _Billy_ had to stand up straight and look his father in the eyes and ‘apologize like a man’ when he did something even _remotely_ wrong, his father had never actually apologized to Billy using words.

Perhaps because Billy’s father never did anything worth apologizing for.

***

Billy was fifteen years old when Neil met Susan, and had just turned sixteen when he got to meet her for the first time. She seemed quiet, and mousy, and scared, and Billy didn’t like her. She was so unlike how he remembered his mother (before she got sick) that he couldn’t help resenting her for it, but he saw the way Neil glared at him over Susan’s shoulder, so he smiled at her and shook her hand and behaved the way his father expected him to – more to avoid being punished for it later than out of a desire to make a good impression.

Neil seemed pleased, and things calmed down for a while. He stopped drinking, and if he stayed out at night, at least Billy knew that he was probably at Susan’s place. Billy didn’t mind it when they were gone; that meant that he could stay out with his friends and not have anyone ask any questions.

It was maybe six weeks later when Billy first got to meet Susan’s daughter, Maxine. She was a quiet little red-head who kept her mother between her and Billy the whole evening, and Billy was just annoyed that he had to stay in and play family when he could have been shooting the shit with his friends. So if he was a bit short during dinner, and excused himself early at the honk of a horn from the streets outside – it was Miguel, who’d come to pick him up as they had agreed upon earlier, before Billy knew that Susan and her daughter would come over – then it couldn’t be helped. Billy was a teenager, and he had other places to be.

He saw Neil’s glare from the other side of the table, but his father had been easier to be around lately, and he’d never touched Billy in front of Susan. And Billy was careless. Getting out of here _right now_ was worth his father’s anger _later_.

Or so he thought. When he got home, late that night, Susan and her daughter were gone. Neil, though – Neil was sitting in the dark in the armchair in the living room, and only turned the lamp on when Billy – who was a little drunk – came in. Billy threw his arm up to shield his eyes from the sudden light, and thus missed when Neil rose from the chair and crossed the floor to get in Billy’s face.

Billy found himself with his back to the wall and with Neil’s hand gripping his throat, Neil’s face just a breath away from his own.

“Today was important, Billy”, Neil hissed. “I _told_ you today was important. That it’s important to make a good first impression. Maxine is going to be your _sister_ , and she spent most of tonight barely talking to you at all.”

Billy swallowed and wet his lips. The alcohol loosened his tongue, because the words were out of his mouth before he could stop them. “It’s hardly my fault that she didn’t want to talk, now is it? And I don’t _want_ a goddamn sister.”

He should have expected the punch that followed, but he was drunk and his mind was slow, so it still took him by surprise. The force of it snapped his head to the side and made him see stars.

“You don’t use that kind of language when you’re talking about her”, Neil said. “Apologize.”

And Billy, who was drunk and scared and pissed off – and wondering how his own father could like some other kid better than his own son after only a couple of months – said “No”, like an idiot.

Later, he wouldn’t be able to recall anything but flashes of what followed. He’d remember pieces of a broken table in front of his eyes. He’d remember cowering on the floor, arms protecting his head. He’d remember a sharp pain in his wrist as he was dragged. He’d remember his own voice, sounding _wrong_ somehow, repeating “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry …”

He’d remember the inside of the ambulance.

Even later, he’d wake up in a hospital bed, beaten to hell and sporting a concussion and a broken wrist. Neil would have explained to people that his son had come home, bloody and beaten, and that he had immediately called the ambulance. And that Billy had said that he’d been jumped, just before he passed out.

The police never did find out who did it. (They probably weren’t looking too hard.)

In the end of the month, when Billy had been released from the hospital for almost a week, Neil bought him the Camaro.  He said it was for taking himself – and Maxine, on the days when she and her mother was at their place – to and from school.

But he didn’t complain _too much_ if Billy decided to take her for a spin in his free time. At least not at first.

***

A year later, Billy drove that same Camaro all the way from California to Indiana, following Neil’s truck where his father sat with his new wife and her daughter.

Billy hated seeing California disappear in his rearview mirror, but he had to admit that – alone in his car, window rolled down, his music blaring from the speakers – there was a particular kind of freedom to be found on the open road.

The Camaro was the last apology Billy ever received from Neil.

(She was also the one to eventually take Billy back out on the road, and _away_ from Neil. And that, Billy thought – with all of his belongings in the trunk and the wind in his hair – was worth a whole lot more than empty words.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alternative title to chapter 3: “Five times Neil taught Billy about apologizing”

**Author's Note:**

> Alternative title to chapter 1: “Five times Billy apologized”


End file.
